


Caspar of Baskerville and the Cursed Piano

by RueRambunctious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dogs, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Violence, Piano, Poor Sebastian, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Angst, Reichenbach Fix-It, Swearing, Threats, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Sebastian thinks he sees ghosts everywhere after Jim's death, and the piano won't stop playing every night.
Dogs are supposed to be able to see ghosts, so Sebastian tries to trust Caspar's judgement. No ghosts. The piano won't stop playing, but it's not a ghost. It's not Jim. It's not.
And then Caspar barks at a figure in Sebastian's bedroom door on the three year anniversary of Jim's death.





	

Sebastian saw Jim's ghost everywhere after Jim decided to blow his sizable brains out on a rooftop.

It was a comfort at first. Sebastian suddenly had a criminal empire to run and an empty flat of Jim's to come home to. Any notions that Jim was in some way present, that Jim might somehow come back, were all Sebastian had to cling to.

And the more Sebastian starved, and the more he didn't sleep, the closer he seemed to be to that other world too. And he saw things. Shadows. Faces in places they didn't belong. Jim's face. Heard whispers sometimes, when he was almost sleeping or stuck on a rooftop trying to prove he could still do his original job.

Heard ghostly piano playing in the night. Although he'd smashed up the piano hoping it would make the noises stop.

Or provoke Jim into a proper haunting. It was hard to tell.

But it is deeply frustrating loving a ghost who won't come talk to you face to face, and eventually Sebastian just won't have it anymore.

Pointedly ignores the shadows. Doesn't look at the faces of anyone but his marks. Burns the fucking piano and refuses to acknowledge that he can still fucking hear the cursed thing in the nights.

Sometimes during the day. His days and nights blur together sometimes.

The solution seems to present itself when Sebastian completes a mundane execution of a few insubordinate drug lords.

They have a dog. A hulking, snarling, bleeding brute of a thing, that looks like it's made of teeth and steroids. A proper hound of the Baskervilles.

If Sebastian just leaves it, it will starve. Or be found, and put down, for being a creature of nightmares.

Of course, animals are supposed to be able to see and sense things mere humans cannot. And dogs are intelligent.

If Sebastian really is being visited by ghosts -one ghost in particular- a dog would fucking know. _This_ dog would fucking know.

The dog goes home with Sebastian. It gives him a bit of backchat, and shows his teeth quite a bit, but surprisingly doesn't try to eat or maim Sebastian.

That in itself disturbs Sebastian a bit, because if the dog doesn't find Sebastian worth attacking, maybe the dog knows Sebastian has more than one foot in the grave already.

Sebastian bandages the dog up at home, and wonders whether tending to the huge, panting hulk of a predator is similar to Jim's experience of cleaning up Sebastian's gunshot wounds.

Jim would probably say the dog had better breath.

And was probably more obedient.

The dog presses his massive forehead into Sebastian's chest, and the blond blinks. Looks down at the comfortable look of acceptance the monster gives him.

The dog isn't bleeding from bullet holes, but the injuries are man made. Sebastian doesn't mind killing things (and he doesn't mind getting slapped around when Jim's in the mood) but it annoys him that the dog has obviously been abused.

Not that the dog seems to care. He slides away from Sebastian's touch and lopes on through to the kitchen as though he already knows where it is.

He gives Sebastian a pointed look, like Jim looking for his tea in the morning, and Sebastian immediately raids the white kitchen for something to satisfy the dog's hunger.

There isn't a lot of food around, because Sebastian isn't the eater he used to be. He manages to rescue some meat which would otherwise have been left to go past its date like everything else in the fridge, and cooks it as though he actually remembers what to do with steak. The dog seems to have the sense not to go near the cooker's heat, but demands on being fed from Sebastian's fingers. It might have been a learned thing, to ensure he cannot be poisoned and only eats from his masters, but Sebastian rather thinks he might have another bossy presence living with him now.

Sebastian cooks his own piece of meat slower, so that it's actually edible, but doesn't bother to make anything to accompany it and doesn't wash his hands before putting the thing to his mouth like a savage. The dog rears up to his enormous height and delicately snaps off the end of the uncut meat. Right from Sebastian's mouth.

Sebastian doesn't give a damn. Rips the burning steak in his hands and gives the dog the lion's share.

The dog gives him a look of approval, and Sebastian tells himself not to think about how it makes him feel.

The dog isn't black like shadows. He's white as the eyes of your enemies, and he fades into the stark, white surroundings of Jim's flat as though he's a ghost himself. For all he weighs more than Jim did with all that obscene muscle, the dog pads silently about the place as though he merely walks through walls.

He leads Sebastian through to the master bedroom commandingly, and gives Sebastian a look before mounting the bed and settling down.

On Jim's side of the bed. Jim would be spinning in his grave if he bothered to stay there instead of tinkling spectral ivories.

Sebastian sloppily licks meat juice from his callused fingers and joins the dog in the bed.

Apparently the dog is an early riser, like Jim, and whilst Jim liked to kick Sebastian out of bed in the mornings, the dog merely grabs Sebastian's waistband in his teeth and drags until the blond sighs and follows.

He takes the dog out to relieve himself and picks up some food on the way back. It doesn't occur to him that the dog might wander from the doorway of the butcher's, and certainly no one's brave enough to approach him.

They amble back to the flat in comfortable silence, broken only by the warning snarls the dog gives anyone who shares their pavement.

Maybe the dog isn't particularly friendly, but he is evidently bonded to Sebastian, and the sniper is glad of it. The deadly dog is his friendly ghost, and when the dog's wounds have healed Sebastian gets him a padded collar that bears the name CASPAR on a little metal disc.

Caspar is the most loyal presence Sebastian has ever known, and he is the only thing that makes life after Jim bearable. The only reason Sebastian has to stop getting blind drunk in the living room and playing Russian roulette with the gun Jim blew his brains out with.

Although the gun stays in Sebastian's bedside drawer and he oils it often still.

Sometimes it seems like Caspar might see the ghost shadows too, but he deigns to give them no more than a haughty glare and curls up with his back to them in insult.

For the most part Caspar doesn't acknowledge the ghosts, so Sebastian doesn't either. It's a lot harder to hear the piano when Caspar is starfished out on their bed snoring loudly.

It's the three year anniversary of Jim's death when Caspar actually barks at a ghost.

Sebastian is awake and sitting up in bed with Jim's gun pointed at the shadow in the doorway in swift response.

“You got a dog.”

It's impossible not to know that voice as Jim's and Sebastian wonders whether Jim's ghost is finally strong enough to visit or whether he's come in place of Death to bring Sebastian peace.

Because Jim was always Death.

Caspar has lowered the tone of his barking now, and sounds like he's rebuking Jim, his scarred chest puffed out and his legs straight.

An intimidating sight to most people. Sebastian's never seen a ghost give a dog a wary glance before.

“Sebastian,” Jim says.

Sebastian responds because it seems normal. “Yes, I got a dog.”

“He's on my side of the bed.”

Sebastian shrugs and reaches out to pet Caspar fondly. “It's not like you need it any more.”

Jim blinks, as though he hasn't been haunting the flat for three years and is surprised by the statement. “I need it tonight.”

Sebastian lowers the gun, drawing his brows together in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it's my bed?”

“You show up after three years of my waiting for you and all you want is your bed?” Sebastian asks thickly.

“Can we fight in the morning?” Jim licks his lips, looking agitated in a way that makes something tingle in Sebastian's brain. “I just want to lie down beside you and go to sleep.”

“You've had three years to come back to this bed, Jim,” Sebastian says coldly, starting to believe this isn't just a dream.

“It's my bed,” Jim says softly.

“Are you still going to be here in the morning?” Sebastian asks suspiciously.

“Yes.”

Sebastian tilts his head towards the door. “Then you can sleep on the couch.”

“What?”

“The dog's earned his place in my bed. You'll need to do the same. Get the fuck out of my room and let me get some sleep. I've lost enough over you.”

“But it's my-”

“NOTHING HERE HAS BEEN YOURS FOR THREE. FUCKING. YEARS. JIM,” Sebastian snaps. Caspar goes to him at once, rubbing his body reassuringly against the blond.

Jim looks completely lost. “Bastian.”

Sebastian crosses the room and thrusts the barrel of the gun that supposedly blew Jim's brains out down Jim's throat. Bursts his thin lips to do it, and if that unpleasant noise was some of Jim's teeth cracking, well that is nothing compared to the trauma Jim has visited on Sebastian.

“Don't. Don't you fucking 'Bastian' me, James fucking Moriarty. I might kill you right now if I thought you would stay dead. Now get the fuck out of my sight until morning when I'll decide whether I want to see you.”

Jim draws away from the gun with the space that Sebastian gives him, but does not leave.

Sebastian wordlessly pushes him out of the doorway and slams the door closed. Pants like he's performed some Herculean task.

Caspar licks his hand and returns to the bed.

It is a long time before Jim's footsteps are heard retreating from the bedroom door. Sebastian listens all night for the slamming of the front door, but it never comes.

Sebastian wakes to see the pistol on the bedside table and considers the night a dream, until he notices Caspar is conspicuously missing from their bed.

Sebastian pulls himself up and approaches the living room, but there's no sign of anyone having been on the couch.

He hunts for Caspar.

Sebastian is not prepared for the sight he discovers in his old room, the one Jim used to banish him to when he wasn't in the mood for Sebastian's presence.

Caspar is fully atop a pinned and red-faced Jim, licking at the brunet's cheeks and neck as he squirms at the unwanted contact.

Sebastian's pretty sure that Jim of three years ago would have stabbed Caspar before now. Judging by the shine on Jim's face, he's been trapped for a while.

“Caspar, heel,” Sebastian orders softly.

The massive dog snaps to his side willingly.

Jim rises like something from a crypt and wipes unhappily at his skin, his broken lips scabbed. He doesn't say anything for a while, and Sebastian doesn't either.

Caspar bores of them and stalks through to the kitchen for food. Sebastian gives Jim a final glance then turns and follows his loyal dog.

Jim drags himself to the shower. He lingers, bewildered by these new dynamics and uncertain how to proceed.

He drifts through to the kitchen, surprised to see that although Sebastian isn't looking at him, he has prepared breakfast for Jim.

“Am I out of the dog house?” the brunet asks softly.

Sebastian whirls around, eyes flashing warningly. “Don't you even begin to paint yourself as the injured party here, Jim.”

Jim's face tightens. “I'm not. I'm… sorry.”

Jim has never apologised to Sebastian before (and may never have tasted the words in his entire life until now) but Sebastian does not feel much relief.

“I don't care, Jim. You fucked up.”

“I-”

“A fucking text Jim. A postcard. Anything in three years to let me know that I hadn't lost everything that mattered to me.”

Jim swallows. “The timing-”

“Fuck the timing Jim! I'm not some stupid little pawn, I'm your...” Sebastian trails off bitterly. “You let me think I mattered to you, you cruel fuck.”

“Tiger,” Jim says.

Sebastian's blue eyes blaze. “Don't.”

“Tiger,” Jim repeats. “You do and you did matter. Always.”

“Mattered so much that you let me bury you,” Sebastian responds frigidly, snatching up his used dish and dumping it in the sink.

“I was wrong,” Jim says starkly. “I won't leave you again.”

“Won't leave me?” Sebastian snorts. “Jim, you're gone. You left. You don't get to come back and make sick promises like that. I'm not interested.”

“Sebastian-”

“NO,” Sebastian bellows. He narrows his eyes and turns his back. “You're dead to me Jim, remember?”

Jim's eyes flash and he stalks across to Sebastian, finding it a lot easier to spin the man around than it ever was before. Too thin. Too much grief.

“Not your choice, Sebastian,” Jim hisses. “However hurt you feel, I _own_ you, and you don't get a say in that.”

Sebastian gives him a bored look. “Drop dead, love.”

Jim's eyes glint. “You think I don't care, Bastian? You think I went on a little holiday for three years and didn't have eyes on you every second of every day keeping you safe? You think I didn't miss you?”

Sebastian considers the haunted feel of constantly feeling watched. Not so paranoid then. “I don't care if you missed me. You obviously don't give a fraction of the damn about me that I do about you, or you couldn't have done it. I could _never_ have done that to you. And we both know that if I had died you wouldn't really have cared.”

“Sebastian,” Jim states softly, “I haven't lived a second since I've been away from your side.”

“Oh really Jim?” Sebastian snorts. “It was hardly 'Stop All The Clocks' for you, was it? You weren't here, at home, holding everything together while your heart was blown to pieces with some poor bastard's brains on a rooftop.”

Jim looks momentarily lost for words, and the feeling lasts as Caspar huffs derisively at them both and pokes Jim's expensive shirt with his broad, slobbering face.

Jim's hand goes down to Caspar's skull of its own accord. He hates dogs. Hates mess.

Sebastian knows it. Watches how his dog butts at Jim's frail frame possessively, and how Jim's fingers ghost Caspar's ears as though the man has some inkling that the dog is the only comfort Sebastian has had.

“You're only sleeping in our bed if he lets you,” Sebastian finds himself saying.

Jim looks up from Caspar. Meets Sebastian's cool eyes. “Fine.”

“And you're the one who likes getting up at an ungodly hour on Sundays, so you can take him out on Sunday mornings,” Sebastian continues.

Jim looks skeptical, but nods stiffly. “Whatever.”

Sebastian steps closer threateningly. “And James, if you ever pull a fucking stunt like that again I will put the bullet in your skull _myself_.”

Jim curls his lip. “Are you not listening, you great lump? I'm not going anywhere. I'm home.”

“You should never have fucking gone,” Sebastian growls, but he softens his squared shoulders.

“You haven't even asked where I've been,” Jim grumbles.

Sebastian's eyes flash. “I don't want to know where you've been. _Nothing_ would be a good enough excuse for what you did.”

“I have been busy sorting out-”

“I don't want to hear it, Jim,” Sebastian snaps. 

Jim sighs and snatches up his breakfast, carrying it over to the microwave and slamming it inside. “Of course, because it's been so hard on you to play the weeping widow.”

Sebastian seizes Jim's slim throat and squeezes. “I will rip out your fucking tongue, James.”

Jim bats at Sebastian's hand crossly and the thick fingers slowly release. “Brute,” he mutters.

“Did ya miss me?” Sebastian sneers.

Jim rubs his throat. “I even missed _this_ actually,” he mutters.

Sebastian snorts, but he seems deflated. “Well, you would.”

Jim gives him a fond look. “Are you coming back to bed?”

Sebastian narrows his eyes. “I am not fucking you that easy. Three years, Jim.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Fine, but it would have helped remove some of that nasty tension.”

“Pretty sure stabbing you repeatedly with my range of kitchen knives would be just as soothing,” Sebastian sneers.

Jim sighs and punches in a time on the microwave's buttons. When the machine yelps Jim wordlessly carries his breakfast through to the living room, Caspar following lazily at his heels.

Jim curls up in the corner of the couch and idly feeds Caspar bits of bacon. “The fuck is the piano?” Jim asks.

Sebastian glowers but joins the smaller man on the couch. “In ashes.”

Jim blinks. “Ah. You did find the letter then.”

Sebastian freezes and turns around to stare at the brunet. “The letter, Jim?”

“The letter telling you to be patient.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes. “I chopped that thing into tiny bits and set it alight. If there was a letter I would have found it.”

Jim gives him a strange look. “I thought it would have been an easy place for you to find.”

“Stuck to the fridge is an easy place to find. Left on my pillow is an easy place to find. Inside your fucking piano-”

“I left it with the mechanism that makes it play by itself. The letter and the box. I thought you'd find it the first night it played.”

“The piano can play by itself?”

“...” Jim stares at Sebastian. “The piano didn't play for you? At night? I programmed it myself so it would play every night until you switched it off.”

Sebastian places his forehead heavily in his hand. Something in his jaw twitches.

Jim gives him a worried look. “Seb?”

“I am going to _fucking_ kill you, very slowly, Jimmy fucking Moriarty,” Sebastian growls.

Jim swallows. Sighs into his food. “Basher, please do not tell me that in three _years_ you didn't find the letter and the bloody ring box inside the piano that played every. Single. Night.”

Sebastian breathes heavily. “You are so dead to me Jim.”

Jim sighs and uncharacteristically puts his plate on the ground so Caspar can have the lot. What's left of Caspar's tail wags smugly. “Where did you put the piano's remains?”

“I… kept them,” Sebastian admits.

“Well at least you're not entirely fucking stupid,” Jim murmurs. “I would be so upset if I had to send you to every refuge dump in London to retrieve your fucking ring.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Like we couldn't afford another.”

“The ring's fucking engraved moron Moran,” Jim snaps. “I don't want _anyone_ to find it _ever_.”

“Well you did a pretty good job of that,” Sebastian grumbles.

“I couldn't risk you finding the letter early and stopping me. _I thought you'd find the fucking thing on the second night at worst._ ”

Sebastian gives him a black look. “ _Dead_ to me, Jimmy.”

Jim sighs. “Just fetch my piano.”

Sebastian disappears obediently and returns with an urn. An actual urn.

“Really, Sebastian?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Sebastian says shortly.

Jim looks at him.

“I was grieving, alright? The damned thing acted cursed and I was sick of your ghost not letting me sleep.”

Jim chokes, trying his best not to allow the unkind laugh in his throat to escape. Sebastian glares knowingly.

“You… thought I was haunting you,” Jim comments in a voice deliberately devoid of inflection.

Sebastian's eyes flash and he upturns the piano's urn close enough to make Jim choke again from the ash.

Jim gives him a pointed look and swirls his thin finger in the mess until it catches on a scorched band of metal.

“Here, you fucking idiot,” Jim mutters, handing the item to its rightful owner.

Sebastian uses his shirt to wipe away the grime, exposing what is left of the tiny words inside. _Wait for me Tiger and I'll give you everything._

Sebastian clenches his jaw. Definitely not upset. Glances across at Caspar for a distraction and gets the distinct feeling that he and Jim are getting judged for playing in dirt like puppies. The spotless dog is easily as snotty as Jim.

Sebastian rolls his ring in his hands. He and Jim can tell it's too big now.

“You can put the weight back on,” Jim commands. “I am not having that thing adjusted.”

Sebastian squeezes the ring in his palm. It's about time he stopped looking like a gaunt widower anyway. “You do realise that no one else knows what this ring means?”

Jim juts out his chin stubbornly. “I made sure the man who made that ring can't ever make others and he doesn't even know who the order was for. If you've got any smart comments to make I can be sure to bury you alongside him.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Keeps playing with the ring. “So what did the letter say?”

“I'm not fucking telling you.”

Sebastian grins. “What did the letter say, Kitten?” he whispers.

Jim squirms. Glares threateningly. “You don't deserve to know. You burnt it without bloody reading it.”

Sebastian tilts his chin challengingly. “Like you can't remember even the jist after three years?”

Jim huffs. “You've got the ring; you know exactly the jist.”

“I want to hear it from your lips though,” Sebastian teases.

“I will cut off your fucking ears if you don't wipe that smug look off of your face,” Jim snarls.

Sebastian merely grins, standing and wiping his hands on his clothing.

“Caspar, stay,” he orders casually.

Caspar bounds onto the couch and curls up happily. Jim presses his lips together.

Sebastian drags Jim to the bedroom.

Makes Jim share with Caspar later that night.


End file.
